Looks Like You
by StarkSpangledFanner
Summary: So. How DO you fight giant humanoid monsters with a hunger for people? Steve kinda wants to know. —Pretty much crack mixed with an Avengers/Attack on Titan crossover, and a tragedy or two.
1. Chapter 1

There are lots of joys that come with being an Avenger.

Like, seriously. It's great. I mean, besides the daddy issues and all, you've got some very nice world leaders breathing down your neck, mentally unstable humans (or, like, not humans, whatever) that love to drop bombs on your home, near-death experiences every other day, and of course, those weird creatures you're obligated to vanquish.

Example?

Giant naked humanoids with a hunger for people.

The twenty-first century is amazing, Steve Rogers notes as Director Fury barks the situation at them from the head of the conference table. Even though he doesn't really need to. It's happening on the screen right behind him. Steve can sense a smartass statement coming from Tony any second now. He kicks the billionaire's ankle under the table, just in case. Tony whines. Steve doesn't care.

One of the things grabs a woman and shoves her in its mouth. Bruce winces.

Fury continues to yell about how the world is counting on them and how they can't fail him or whatever, but Steve is a little confused. How exactly are they gonna, you know, fight those things? They're both at least, like, forty feet. That's just an estimate but they're still really big. Okay. If Thor was here, that would've been cool, cause, lightning and all. But he's busy in Svartasomethingheim, so that's a no, everyone guesses.

Maybe Iron Man and the Hulk?

"It'll have to do. Good thinking, Rogers." Fury nods when the idea is presented. He sounds kinda nonchalant, like they aren't going up against two man-eating monsters the size of small buildings. Tony whines again, because why does he have to do it? Does this mean Spangles and the rest are home free? Not fair.

Steve wishes he had slept in.

The order is given to suit up, but before they—well, just Tony, basically—can move from their rolly chairs, the scene changes.

They all watch with rapt attention as two figures shoot into view. Going for building to building, the figures move quickly and smoothly, swinging forwards with...

Everyone leans closer to examine the gear strapped around the waists of the two.

Are those grappling hooks?

Steve honestly thinks they're going to get killed, until one male launches himself straight towards a monster and, with two long twin blades, cleanly slices through the nape of its neck. It goes down with a ground-shaking _thump. _

It does not get back up.

The man's partner takes down the other thing just as quick. Soon, the two stand among giant smoking corpses, appearing more confused about their surroundings than the otherworldly beasts they've just killed. An awkward silence falls over the room. Fury does that thing where he narrows his eye, like no one else but his Avengers can save the world because that's just embarassing.

More silence. More awkward glances.

"Awesome," Clint finally murmurs.

Fury barks about how he wants those two in SHIELD HQ right now, dammit. Tony takes a closer look at one of the men. He turns to Steve.

"Looks like you."

The twenty-first century is definitely amazing.

* * *

**k there we go that was a hoot and a half to write**

**more chapters, anyone? theyll be longer I promise**

**okaaaay tell me what you all think**

**-starkspangledfanner**


	2. Chapter 2

As it turns out, the two men do not go without a scuffle.

Or, at least, the shorter one doesn't.

The Avengers—minus Thor—watch in varying levels of alarm and slight embarrassment as he easily takes down five trained SHIELD agents with a face that's so nonchalant it's almost scary.

He's about to go for the recon leader who may or may not be using his lackeys as human shields when a word from the taller man calls him off.

One simple, calmly uttered word. Steve sits up just a little straighter; he recognizes authority when he sees it.

After a few more cautious approaches and a drawn firearm or two, the remaining agents (the ones not bested by a man that's a foot shorter than all of them) manage to load the men into a standard black SUV waiting on the sidelines.

Though they have to cuff Shorty when he tries to bite an agent out of spite more than anyhing.

Captain America 2.0, as Tony takes to calling him now, doesn't put up a fight. The handguns pointed at his face don't seem to faze him.

Steve has to admit, the guy is pretty intimidating. The agents shift nervously when his calculating gaze passes over them. (Weak-ass nerds.)

The lingering and possibly scarred civilians are easily ushered away with calm reassurances and promises of an extra hour in the ball pit, so all in all, it's a pretty good day. Except for that one woman. Sorry.

In record time, the SUV has returned to HQ and the strangers are being escorted through the corridors in a style that's quite Loki-esque. Everyone around them looks a little wary, especially of Shorty, who glares at anyone stupid enough to look straight at him. Neither of them make any attempts to resist, though. Not yet. Steve finds that strange.

They're deposited into the interrogation room with a guard in every corner and Nick Fury leaning over the grey slab of a table menacingly. Except, he's not actually scaring anyone.

"The jackass wouldn't even let us listen in. Who does that?" Tony sulks as he and the rest hang around outside the one-way glass. Natasha rolls her eyes but says nothing, as usual. Clint leans against the wall beside her, knocking his head on it gently. No one pays him any attention.

For the first time in a long while, Steve agrees with the guy. He's pretty curious. He wants to know who these people are and where they came from and how they could out-do the Avengers, for goodness' sake, with grappling hooks and swords.

Swords. Come on.

Now that he thinks about it, those giants had seemingly appeared out of thin air. No portals or wormholes or magic. Just... there. And right after they were sliced up, the grotesque bodies evaporated. Literally evaporated. He's never seen anything like it, but, then again, who has?

Well, obviously these two. Maybe they'll be recruited.

Speaking of which. Fury is done ranting and interrogating or whatever the hell he does in there—there's just a lot of yelling and flailing and stares and smartassery that's probably coming from Shorty. Captain America 2.0 speaks calmly, or at least it seems he is, 'cause Fury hasn't snapped on him yet. Steve can assume that they've come to a conclusion.

The Lamevengers all scramble to attention when the Director leaves the tiny room and emerges into the hallway. He looks at all of them with something like pity—and amusement—in his eyes.

"I hope you've got some more room in that tower of yours, Stark," is all he says, before directing a subtle nod towards the men being led from interrogation.

Tony nearly faints.

But Steve does learn that Shorty and Captain America 2.0's names are actually Levi and Erwin, so that's a win.

**ummmm okaaay i updated just for you nuggets**

**grrr im not pleased with this chapter tho... thoughts? (its kinda just like a filler type thing the next one will be cooler i think)**

**yay read and review bbys**


	3. Chapter 3

"Levi and Erwin."

Tony looks up from his StarkPad at Steve. The frown lines around his mouth are more prominent than ever. Probably because he has to share his tower with a buncha weirdos from another universe.

"What?" he says. Steve fiddles with his fingers. Levi and Erwin. "Their names, I mean. The, uh, the shorter one is Levi. The other is Erwin," he concludes with a nod. Tony stares at him.

"And why do I care about this?" Then, he adds, "How'd you find that out, anyway?"

"Overheard them talking. They're just as lost as we are, you know."

Tony squints and raises his eyebrows, before going back to tapping on his tablet. "No, I don't know. I don't care, Steve-o. I do want them out of my tower, though," he mutters with a huff. Steve kinda sees where he's coming from. Just a year and a bit ago, he had to get used to six other freaks living with him. Now there are two more even bigger freaks taking up space and leaving butt prints on his suede couches.

They're here until Selvig and the rest of the science nerds down at SHIELD can find them a way back to their universe, so it's a suck-it-up situation, as Fury puts it.

Speaking of which. From the small bar, Steve has a clear view of the two sitting on said couches in the living room. Levi has his legs crossed, arms thrown over the back of the couch. Erwin sits next to him, staring at nothing and everything. They're silent as ever. They have been, since they got here.

Is that a good or bad thing? No one knows, but Natasha prowls around the rooms closest to the living room, just in case it's the latter.

"Maybe we should talk to them. Strike up a conversation," Steve suggests.

"You go ahead, Cap," Tony says. The displeasure is evident in his voice.

Steve sighs and raps his fingers on the bar in irritation. He's about to give up and go take a nap or exercise or whatever he does, when he begins to feel strange. Real strange. Like holes are being burned into his head.

He swivels around on his barstool, looking around, and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

Levi is staring at him blankly.

Awkward.

Steve clears his throat even though there's nothing blocking it. Levi continues to stare.

He doesn't know what to do. Should he wave? Should he say hello? Should he go over there and follow his own advice to strike up a conversation? Or should he say something witty to display his amazing intelligence?

"So, do you... uh, kill giant naked people often?"

Beautiful, Mr. Rogers. Absolutely wonderful. Ten out of ten.

Tony expertly stifles a bark of laughter, grabs his tablet and his glass of scotch, and ducks out of the room quickly. Traitor.

Erwin is staring at him now. Steve pulls at his shirt collar nervously.

Finally, Levi speaks up. "What a dumbass way to put it," he says with a roll of his eyes. "They're called Titans." Then he looks away, murmuring about the cleanliness of the place with obvious disdain. Steve recoils in surprise and slight offense. Not even Tony is that mean. Most of the time.

He's still feeling put off until Erwin's stoic expression fades in favour of an apologetic smile.

"Don't mind him. We're all feeling a little tense, aren't we?" The man stands and walks around the couch, coming to take the spot Tony had vacated minutes ago. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced," he says as he leans forward and extends a hand, still smiling. "Erwin Smith." He has a nice smile, Steve notices as he puts out his own hand. Well, he has a nice everything, actually. Wow. What a strange thought.

"Steve Rogers. Pleased to meet you, sir."

Erwin laughs. "No need for that, friend. Just Erwin." From the couch, Levi scoffs. What a guy.

"Oh, come now, Levi. Be polite," Erwin chides. He sounds like a mom. A suburban mom with a pixie cut and shape ups and dollar store sunglasses, chiding her little snapback-and-Walmart hightops-wearing twelve-year-old. That's a good analogy. "You'll have to pardon his attitude. We're both extremely grateful for the accommodations," he continues. "A very nice home you've got here."

Steve finds himself nodding. "Well, it's mostly Tony's place. The rest of us are just taking up the free space, really," he says, scratching his neck absently. Levi acts like a dick and rolls his eyes again.

From another room, someone—probably Tony—faintly yells, "Stop talking about me, Steve!"

"Your comrades are quite an interesting bunch," Erwin notes.

"Well." Steve shrugs.

"They remind me of my squad," Erwin says, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. Commander. Right. "Maybe a little more eccentric, though."

"That's a damn lie, Erwin. You know how much of a freak Hanji is," Levi huffs, uncrossing his legs. He stands, then stares directly at Erwin. "How long were you backed up again after you ate her cooking?" Without waiting for a response, he leaves the room in quick strides.

Steve watches him go. "So. He's always like that?"

"Unfortunately. You learn to deal with it after a while."

"Hm."

A comfortable silence settles over the pair, before Tony's face appears in the wide doorframe. His face is stoic. Steve and Erwin (mostly Steve) regard him with an air of slight apprehension. Then he opens his mouth.

"How long _were _you backed up?"

Steve's eyes widen. "Jesus, Tony!"

His laughter can be heard all the way down the hall as he sprints out of the soldier's throwing range.

* * *

Later on, after he's dropped his gear and his jacket, Erwin tells Steve about the Walls. About the Titans, and about this one unbelievably angry little fifteen year old named Eren, who wants to kill all of the Titans, but can ironically turn into one. That doesn't sound too far out to Steve, actually. Like, why would it? He's friends with a God from another realm. Come on, people.

He learns about Erwin's friends in depth. Hanji, who's obsessed with the Titans. Mike, who sniffs people and smirks like he knows the secrets of the world. Maybe he does.

Then there's Petra and Auruo and Erd and Gunther and Nanaba, members of Levi's Special Ops, because apparently, Levi is "Humanity's Strongest." The sniffing guy isn't far behind, along with the angry boy's adopted sister. Steve asks if there's a reason as to why she was adopted. Erwin looks uncomfortable and says that he really doesn't want to know the details. Just a little misadventure in the forest , is all.

When Steve is asking questions, he notices how, for split seconds, Erwin averts his gaze over to the floor-to-ceiling windows of the common room. The sun is setting. New York glows brighter than ever, now that the sky's light is fading. He looks like he's never seen a sunset before.

But that's impossible, right? Everyone has seen a sunset. Even people living behind walls.

Steve decides that he has inquired enough. They've just become acquaintances, after all. (Plus prying is for douchebags. You didn't hear that from Captain America, though.) Instead he asks if Erwin would like to step outside for a bit, because the weather is really nice this time of year and the skyline always looks amazing at night. Erwin says yes, so Steve tells JARVIS to open the balcony doors.

After getting over the intial shock that there's a disembodied voice in the ceiling that can do pretty much anything you ask of it, including ordering takeout from across the city (like whaaaat), the Commander escapes to discover the wonder that is NYC.

"Huh," Steve murmurs to himself. "What a day."

He takes one last glance at Erwin, leaning against the railing with a thoughtful look on his face, before strolling away to the kitchen. Maybe he can sneak some ice cream in before dinner.

**okaaaay heeey guys i am a total bum nugget **

**sorry for taking so long to update this thing so i tried to make this chapter a little longer, even though i am unable to write long chapters cause i kinda suck**

**soooo enjoooy bbys oh and tell me what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

Except for the occasional clink of cutlery on plates (purposely, on Clint and Tony's part, judging by the barely hidden smiles) the dining room is terribly silent.

Steve swallows another bite of steak

slowly. (He's been trying his hand at the grill; no one is choking so far, so he takes it as a good sign.)

He surveys the situation.

Levi sits across from him, right next to Erwin. His face remains impassive as he meticulously slices his steak, as well as his vegetables. Who slices their vegetables? Honestly? Who? It's not even just cutting up the veggies into more manageable bites. No, no, he's like... he's literally slicing them. He's slicing his freaking vegetables. Then he groups a bit with the steak so he gets an even fork of both in his mouth. Like. What. Steve doesn't judge, though. He just finds it a little strange.

Erwin eats his food normally and makes eye contact with anyone who looks at him. That includes Natasha, who is practically glaring, because she still does't trust either of them. If the man feels the tension, he doesn't show it. He just has this pleasant look on his face, like he's smiling beneath the skin. Then he just goes back to eating, as if one of the deadliest assassins in the world isn't thinking of all the ways she could kill him if he blinked wrong. (Even though, you can't really tell from the outside, because Natasha is actually a total dork. The assassin thing is a bonus.)

Well, he doesn't know anything about her, so. Whatever. He should've still been scared. Or at least uncomfortable, you know? (Everyone can only hope that all dinners in the foreseeable future will not carry on like this particular one.)

Anyway.

"Do you like the... the..." Steve starts, then uses his fork to gesture to the steak on Erwin's plate. "Is it okay?" Erwin looks at him, smiles, and nods.

"I'm enjoying it. You're a very good cook, Steven." At that, Tony nearly snorts his wine up his nose in an attempt to stifle his laughter, and Bruce has to rub small circles into his back to ease the coughing. Levi rolls his stupid squinty eyes like he's better than everyone there. Steve doesn't really take it to heart. Levi is just a mean guy.

Steve thanks Erwin, who continues to smile in praise of the steal despite Tony's idiocy. His smile is nice. Calming. Like one of those little lip quirks someone gives you when they're asking you to pass the gravy. He kind of does remind Steve of himself, you know, with the short blond hair (except, Erwin parts his on his left, while Steve parts his on his right. He thinks he looks cooler that way) and the baby blue eyes and the superhero jawline and that lip quirk smile. Hm. Erwin is pretty hot, I guess.

Once he's finished the last bite of his steak, he leans back in his chair, and Steve watches as he rolls the sleeves of his white dress shirt up. He vaguely remembers those brown jackets—and, what did they call it, 3D Maneuver Gear?—lying by the elevator doors to the common room. He also remembers the winged emblem stitched onto the breast pocket and the back, blue and white, merging into each other like clouds and sky. Maybe he'll ask what it means. Later. Not now. He isn't so sure if it's his place to ask so much about their home world just yet, even if Erwin is willing to share. After all, he knows how it feels to be out of place, you dig? Of course you do. You're a smart one, reader.

Speaking of which, Erwin is ready to leave the table. He's asking where the bathroom is, and Bruce politely directs him down the hall, after offering to wash his plate for him, because he is a guest after all.

So he pushes his chair in, and walks off at a leisurely pace, admiring the Pepper Potts-approved artwork on the walls as he goes. Levi remains. Natasha stares. Tony sips his wine with raised eyebrows. Steve feels awkward. It's an amazing process, really.

After a few more minutes and a few more empty plates, he decides that enough is enough.

"So." He claps his hands once. "Movie?"

* * *

When Erwin returns from his business, everyone wanders into the common area, where Jarvis kindly dims the lights. (Their impromptu guests have to be introduced to the television and the fact that in this world, people watch other people pretending to be someone other than themselves for fun. Sometimes, there will be explosions, but no one is really dead, even though they look it. Levi looks indifferent. Erwin is fascinated. Steve is just glad that he's not the lost one for once.)

Everyone argues over what to watch. Clint wants to see horror, but Natasha is up for sci-fi, and Bruce wants to watch Gravity. The arguing is a little annoying and a whole lot embarassing, because hey, grown adults here, and finally, Steve takes charge. He asks Jarvis what the choice should be, and the AI recommends a sci-fi horror-ish space movie called Sunshine, the riveting tale of eight astronauts tasked with re-igniting a dying sun.. It's a good enough compromise, so someone goes to pop a bowl of kernels and they settle in.

The first half of the movie, everyone keeps bothering Steve about how much one of the 'nauts, the Mace guy, looks like him. "I can't see it," Tony keeps saying, "I mean, eyes. Nose. Chin. Yeah. But the—the hair? Look at it. That's terrible hair. That's just not for America and her interests."

"Sounds just like him though," Natasha comments as she finishes her bowl of popcorn. She begins to reach for Clint's. She is denied through a series of hand flails and angered whines. She then goes for Bruce instead.

"I don't know, Tony. I think there's a resemblance," Steve shrugs. From the loveseat next to the couch, Erwin nods thoughtfully. On screen, the oxygen garden of the _Icarus II _goes up in flames. While he fends off Natasha's attacks, Bruce sighs sadly at the loss. "Too bad," he murmurs, before deftly catching a sneaking wrist. Too bad. It was a nice garden. (Plus, you know, it'd been an essential source of life. No big deal, though.)

Levi now looks like he wants to fall asleep. He's had that narrow eyed look since he realized the brawl in the beginning between Mace and the physicist Capa wasn't actually real. He's sitting on the arm of the loveseat, arms crossed, staring at the million-inch screen with that ever present glare on his face. His legs are crossed. At one point, Tony whispers that he probably has something up his ass, and Steve flicks the mechanic's ear in warning.

But gosh, Shorty looks just about ready to fall over.

And, surprisingly but kind of unsurprisingly, he does so.

The movie has just gotten to the point where the captain of the compromised _Icarus I_has somehow snuck onto its sister ship and tries to sabotage the mission. There isn't enough oxygen for the crew to reach the Sun, and when the chilling revelation is delivered through the ship's AI (Tony scoffs; Jarvis would've never let that happen) Steve definitely does not see Clint hide his face in Natasha's shoulder. But yeah. Things are getting crazy.

And then, they all hear a thump.

Erwin's gaze remains on the film in rapt attention with Levi's face smushed into the crook of his neck. Only when they hear soft snuffles is Erwin's cue to move. He smiles tiredly. "It's been a long day. It seems we're retiring for the night," he says.

Tony is trying not to laugh as he says, "Yeah, sure thing, 2.0. J? Be a dear and put the children to bed, would you?" Jarvis affirms his task quietly, and kindly asks for Mister Smith to board the elevator where he'll be delivered to his floor. Erwin thanks him, stands, and with all the grace and finess Steve has ever seen, slings Levi over his shoulder gently. Then he goes over to the elevator, stoops to grab their jackets, and when the doors open, he steps in. Before they're whisked away, he nods to the group of quiet Avengers. There's a quiet ping, and the two are gone.

"Well," Bruce grins, "they're adapting quickly." Steve 'hmm's slowly, absently rolling an unpopped kernel between his thumb and index finger.

"Maybe we should turn in too," he finally suggests. He isn't tired, but the atmosphere feels... different now. He feels like going to bed.

Everyone else agrees. Abandoning the popcorn bowls (tomorrow, they all tell themselves, even though it'll be Mama Steve cleaning up), they head up to their seperate floors. Tony heads down, brushes off Steve's questioning glances. "Gotta tinker, Steve-o," he flashes a smirk, then saunters out of the room. Huh. Weird guy.

Steve looks at the TV and watches as Mace freezes to death in a pool of coolant.

He turns on his heel and starts for the stairs, and behind him, Jarvis turns the movie off.

* * *

**AM I A PIECE OF CRAP OR WHAAAT**

**HIGH SCHOOL IS ACTUALLY RLY DUMB AND THERE IS WORK **

**A BUTTLOAD OF WORK**

**BUT IM NOT ABANDONING THIS SO THAAANKS TO EVERYONE WHO IS STILL HERE**

**U GUYS ARE GREAT**

**AND UH SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT AND SERIOUS TONES OOPS I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED BUT YEAH**

**BYE**


	5. Chapter 5

Even when his head hits the pill

ow, Steve doesn't fall asleep for a long time. There's too much on his mind, too much to think about. They're still the Avengers—lame as they are—and they've still got a mission. And, yeah, there's nothing anyone can do right now but wait for the science nerds at HQ to figure something out, but the team has to remain vigilant. Steve still hasn't forgotten how those beasts grinned as they terrorized downtown Manhattan. (Plus, he's pretty sure that no one actually got an extra hour in the ball pit. That's enough to mess anyone up.)

So. There's definitely too much on his mind.

But when he finally does close his eyes, he welcomes the sleep with open arms.

He doesn't dream. The black silence is good enough.

* * *

Ikea is not a good place.

Okay, wait. That's a little random. You need context, don't you? Context. All right. Lemme give you a rundown of the morning after.

* * *

Steve wakes up at exactly 6:13 AM. He's groggy and a little disoriented, eyes squinting at the grey light creeping onto the bed. What the hell is that. Why is it in his room. Why is he awake. What. He just sits there, staring, trying to gather enough willpower to make it to the bathroom without falling over.

Willpower, bathroom. Why is there willpower in his bathroom. What?

"Captain Rogers? Do you require assistance?" Jarvis intones quietly.

"Assistance..." Steve murmurs slowly. Hm.

Contrary to popular belief, he is not a morning person. During the war, of course, but come on. It's been seventy years. Once he'd gotten used to this new world, and his body realized that threat wasn't always imminent (well, at least, like, six times out of ten it wasn't) then it was all like, "Hey, man. Super soldier or not, this waking up at the ass-crack of dawn thing has got to stop. There are over a thousand movies on Netflix. Chill." Over a thousand. How can he ignore that?

So. Here he is now, all out of it and slouchy, with bedraggled hair and droopy eyes, listening to Jarvis say something while watching the morning light curve up his leg. Gosh. He looks so pasty. So, so pasty. It's a curse, because pasty people can only tan to a nice shade of jesus-that-looks-painful red, and while he is a full body blusher, he does not like to look it for days on end.

But anyway.

"Captain Rogers? If you do require assistance, perhaps I could send Agent Romanoff to aid you?" Jarvis asking

now. There's an undertone of smugness in the suggestion. That's not fair.

"'S alright. Thanks," Steve says, and decides that, yes, now would be an optimal time to haul ass out of bed and into the bathroom. Plus, he can smell dregs of coffee and sausages wafting up from the communal kitchen. Ah, yes. It smells like Bruce is at the stove.

The bathroom tiles are cold on his bare feet as he washes his face and brushes his teeth. (He has to do that twice, because the first time he tries to wet the toothpaste on his brush, he holds it under the faucet too long and the Colgate blob disappears down the drain before his eyes.) He thinks about grabbing a quick shower to wake himself up fully, but... there's food downstairs, man. No time for showers, so he throws on joggers and an old t-shirt, then catches a ride to the commons on the elevator.

"Mornin', Captain," Clint calls. He's perched on the island with one legged flipped over the other, reading a magazine and sipping the last few dregs of his coffee straight from the pot. Steve waves to him, and is silently thankful for the fact that there's already another pot brewing on the counter.

Tony is sitting slouched on one of the barstools, mug cradled in his hands, and Steve taps his back on the way to the coffee. "Posture," he says casually, with a smile, and Tony squints through a million night's worth of bags and tells him what he can go do with himself. Bruce looks over his shoulder at them. He smiles in amusement, but says nothing, and goes back to moving sausages around a pan. He points the spatula to a pile of pancakes on his right.

"Help yourself, Steve," he says quietly.

And that, Steve does. He pours himself a cup of coffee—complete with heaps of cream and sugar, because why not?—then sits at the island with it and his stack of pancakes and a bottle of maple syrup. It's 6:59. The quiet noise of magazine pages flipping, of sizzling oil, of slow breathing and soft slurping against mug rims, is enough to lull him into an easy state of peace. He hums and tips the syrup onto the pancakes in a practiced flourish, watching as it runs to the edge of the stack then drips off and pools on the plate. Nice.

"Is anyone else up?" he asks, but the real meaning of his question is obvious: Erwin and Levi?

"Huh. Forgot about the extra freeloaders," Tony mumbles, "Jarvis? Status report on 2.0 and his attack dog, if you may." Steve rolls his eyes and takes the first bite of his pancakes. Clint accidentally kicks Tony on the arm.

"The commander is moving towards the common level. Corporal Levi wishes to remain in his quarters until he has deemed his appearance worthy of company," Jarvis intones. After a moment, the AI adds, "he has asked me to tel you he is displeased with the shower, sir. Will that be all?"

Tony makes a face. "What? Why?"

"He believes it is unnecessarily complicated, sir."

"Oh my god, what-ever. They don't have showers back home? What is this?" Tony snaps, angrily squinting at his coffee. Steve struggles to hold in a laugh, because it's hilarious to insult the engineer's tech. He just gets so mad. It's like watching a cat puff up, seriously. "What year are they coming from? Jesus."

Huh. That's a good question, actually.

Right at that moment, Erwin pops up, padding into the kitchen with tired eyes and semi-neat hair. Everyone takes a moment to survey him closely, and, woah, it's clear as day that he didn't sleep a wink. He's absently playing with the hem of his boxer shorts, looking like he's deep in thought at the same time, only noticing the stares directed at him when he bumps into a stool and meets their gazes.

"Good morning," he says in a voice gravelly with disuse. "May I?" He points to the stool. Tony waves a hand, and Erwin takes a seat. He tries to stay upright, straight and attentive like a military officer should be, but it's a lost battle. Evenually, he's reduced to slouching, curved over the island, nose almost dipping into the mug of coffee Bruce sets down for him. He's wicked tired. No one comments. It could be the fact that this is an unfamiliar place, and trust comes slowly to those who are smart, and it could be the beds, but Steve doubts that. Tony's beds are probably the most comfortable in the universe. Maybe—

Tony yelps out a loud, "Hey!" and turns to Erwin abruptly. He's got that look on his face, the one that means he's about to do something that could get all of them into a lot of trouble.

"You know what I just thought?" he continues, index finger jabbing the island's marble top. He does not receive an answer. No one knows what he just thought.

So he goes on. "I think fresh air is a good idea. A really good idea. Amirite, Steve-o?" Steve stares at him. "Bruce? Hey, yeah, we're gonna do this."

Erwin takes a tentative sip of his coffee. "What is it we're doing?"

Tony raises his eyebrows and downs the rest of his own before standing. A 'how-bad-can-this-be' smile tugs on his lips.

"Gather your pants, gentlemen. We're going out."

Steve's eyes go wide. "Tony, we're not—"

* * *

"But, really, which ones do you like? I think the blues are a nice touch, but..."

"Really? The reds are softer."

"Hell no, Eyebrows. We're getting the green ones."

Ikea is not a good place. (There we go!) As he watches Clint debate with Erwin and Levi from his vantage point in the bedding section, Steve believes that fact. After all, what humble furniture store would pit people against each other over... over pillows? Ikea. Savagery in its purest form.

Beside him, Natasha sits on one of the beds and taps away at her phone. She isn't interested in shopping for furniture, and they'd already went all out on clothes a few hours ago. Steve frowns. The mall is also a dangerous place to be, especially for them, because of course choosing a few outfits (read: a lot of outfits) had to be a big deal. Tony had hated every single one of Erwin's clothing choices, and Levi, who never wanted to leave the tower in the first place, grew agitaged and threatened to throw both of them in the first-floor fountain if they didn't hurry up. It had been kind of funny before Natasha and Clint ditched them for the food court. Then it really stopped being funny when Bruce's cheeks started turning green from the stress. He had to go home. After that shopping was done, the mall got super boring, so Tony was all like, "Hey. Ikea," and Erwin got curious, because what the hell was an Ikea, so.

Here they are. Wasting away this Swedish prison.

Tony had wandered away to the kitchen section a while ago, to see how he could make superhero-proofing the common kitchen at home a little more contemporary. (Which was totally unnecessary, since Steve only ripped off the fridge handle ONCE, because he was angry. Once.)

"The green ones are ugly, man," Clint is saying. "Blue is much better."

"That shirt is ugly," Levi snaps. Clint gasps, clutching at his Rolling Stones tee. Erwin looks indifferent to the conflict. He just wants a few pillows, is all.

Steve sighs and nudges Natasha, who hums her acknowledgement absently. "I'm gonna someone who works here. Those three need some help, I think," he tells her, and she nods but never looks up. His lips quirk up, just a little, before he sets off on his journey into the unknown.

For a while, navigation is easy. He just follows the little arrows on the ground, keeping an eye out for any employees. Sometimes, he smells something absolutely delicious, and he's tempted to veer off course to find the source, but steels himself and moves on. Food can wait. His mission is much more important. Plus, there are so many cute things in this place that he gets distracted long enough to lose the aroma. Seriously. These little chairs, man. Who can fit in them? He can. He thinks he can. He tries. He discovers that he cannot. No one will think anything of a broken children's chair stuffed in a storage cabinet.

He moves away from that area quickly, and in his haste, loses the little arrows.

Fear swells in his gut as he finds himself standing in Lighting, surrounded by kids and middle-aged men and women in three-quarter length khakis and sandals. One little boy screams bloody murder a few aisles down from him, jumping up and down, holding a strange stuffed unicorn thing. His mother ignores him in favour of looking at tealights. Steve is terrified.

He spins around, trying to find a way out, but another woman is blocking his path. She holds two strangely shaped lamps in her hands, presenting them to him. "Which one do you like better? I'm going for a Victorian theme this year. What do you think? Is this one too modern?" Steve's eyes dart at everything but the lamps. He's also pretty sure that none of the lamps are of the Victorian era, but he doesn't want to discourage her. He points at one randomly. The woman frowns. "Really?" Behind her, a man is trying to enter the aisle with his cart. She isn't moving for him. The child is still screaming with his unicorn. The woman is asking about two new lamps. One is pink, with beads hanging from the shade, and one is a terribly ugly purple. She says they are for her daughter, who is six and plays soccer on Saturdays. The man with the cart is getting angry, and loudly asks for them to clear the way. The woman tells him that he can wait for just a moment, because this is important. The unicorn child screams. The man yells. The woman yells. Everyone is yelling, and then there's that delicious meat smell again, wafting through the air, and Steve catches a glimpse of the name on the pink lamp's tag, which reads SNÖIG in bold letters. Oh, God. He's going to die in here. He hopes that Erwin and Levi get home safe.

But just then, amidst the madness, he sees it.

A blue and yellow uniform, disappearing into the next aisle over.

Steve's eyes bulge, and he lunges straight over the man's cart, yelling a quick apology in his wake. The mission has resumed.

He dashes after the uniform, the beacon of hope, and nearly cries when he reaches out to tap her. Everything seems to happen in slow motion, as she turns around, ponytail flipping over her shoulder beautifully, pink smile widening at the sight of a customer. The lights behind her cast a halo around her head, and somewhere, Steve can hear singing. Her nametag says JESS.

"Excuse me," he whispers.

"How can I help you?" Jess asks.

"Can you, uh... how do I get to the Bedding section? My friends need help with something?" Steve inquires. Jess smiles and laughs. She points in the direction behind him.

"Just head back that way and take the first two lefts. Then a right, and head straight for a bit, and there you go. It should be right in front of you!" she says. The smile never leaves her lips.

"Thanks a lot," Steve nods. "And-"

"As for your friends, I'm not sure I can be of any use," she continues cheerfully, "since I don't work here."

Steve freezes, looking back at her. She fixes him with an innocent look.

"What?" he asks slowly.

"I don't work here, sir," Jess affirms. "I walked in here when I was fifteen. They slapped a nametag and a uniform on me, and I've been wandering these aisles ever since. Will that be all?"

Steve steps back in horror. "How?"

Jess huffs a laugh and tosses her hand about, like she's speaking of the weather or the cupcakes she baked. "It's quite alright. I just never found my way out," she says. Her tone becomes more hollow, more weathered, and she stares off into the distance.

"None of us did."

At that moment, someone grabs Steve on the shoulder, and he certainly does not cry out and jump away, because he definitely does not expect an Ikea uniform and a STEVE nametag thrust in his face. But, to his ultimate relief, he realizes that he's staring into Erwin's bright blue eyes. He's toting one of those giant Ikea bags, stuffed with red pillows. He looks concerned.

"There you are, Steven. We were beginning to worry," he says. "We're going to eat now. Clint tells me the meatballs are nice."

Steve doesn't care. He'd just like to leave, thanks very much. Maybe take a nap and forget about the day, before Jarvis wakes him up for dinner. He doesn't want to go shopping for a loooong time.

Erwin leads him away, going on about the meatballs and the pillows, how he convinced Levi that the red ones were better than those nasty forest green ones after he had to break up a brief scrap between Levi and Clint, because the insults began to get a little personal. He goes on about the sheer size of this place, and thinks the escalators are quite entertaining. "I worry for the safety of my friends, back within the Walls, but... your world eases me," he says, with a ghost of a smile. Steve holds onto that thought as they walk along together, following little yellow arrows.

And when he turns around, Jess is long gone.

Yep. Ikea is not a good place.

* * *

**OKAAAY EXTRA LONG CHAPTER FOR U GUYS**

**OMG THANKS TO THE READERS WHO ARE ACTUALLY PUTTING UP WITH ME AND MY DUMB UPDATING**

**I HATE EXAMS**

**K BYE LOVE U BBYS**


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